


Eyes Always Seeking

by radiofreerosebuds



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Sort Of, angsty, e e e e emotional, its the 60s and theyve aged, neil lives au (of course), songfic if you squint, tags will probably change as we go along, title is a hozier lyric, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-09-16 12:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16954143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiofreerosebuds/pseuds/radiofreerosebuds
Summary: Someone who was once(as described by the poet, Todd Anderson, himself) a burning source of heat, a fiery passion, unable to beat, is now cold and uninspired. Numb. Beatable. Beaten down, even. He does not radiate the same warmth that came from the seventeen year old at Welton Academy. He is not a soft lit flashlight in a cave at midnight, reciting lines of Whitman, Wadsworth, Browning, Blake, you name it. He is not a Sun bringing light and life to a stage with a crown made of twigs.





	1. A Cup Of Tea

Neil Perry is completely and utterly burnt out.

Someone who was once(as described by the poet, Todd Anderson, himself) _a burning source of heat, a fiery passion, unable to beat_ , is now cold and uninspired. Numb. Beatable. Beaten down, even. He does not radiate the same warmth that came from the seventeen year old at Welton Academy. He is not a soft lit flashlight in a cave at midnight, reciting lines of Whitman, Wadsworth, Browning, Blake, you name it. He is not a Sun bringing light and life to a stage with a crown made of twigs. 

He sits on the floor of an empty cave and shivers. Moss and leaves surround the stone floor beneath him, seeming to swirl in his sickly state. It’s all too familiar. As he stands, shakily to his feet, he begins to see it. Crinkled paper. Scrapped poems. And, sure enough, a lamp-- the God of the cave. A gust of cold air pours in through the top and sends a chill down his spine. He curls in on himself with nothing but the thin clothes on his back and a red scarf to depend on. What was once a source of glee was now a cesspool of melancholy. If he closed his eyes he could still hear Charlie Dalton’s saxophone filling the room with sweet jazz.

Suddenly, and without another thought, he lifts the large book of poetry that young men once rejoiced over. When he opened it, however, it did not greet him with the familiar words he remembered even after all these years:

_“I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life, and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.”_

No, instead, the page was blank. In fact, all of them were. Frantic, he flipped through them, trying to believe that these memories weren’t a mere figment of his imagination. That the joyous nights of sucking the marrow out of life weren’t slipping away from him. He began to cry. Tear after cold tear dripped onto the bare paper, staining it until he couldn’t stand to look at the book and imagine words where they weren’t anymore.

 

_Brrrrring Brrrrrrrrring!_

 

**7:32. November 3, 1963. Back to reality.**

It was just a dream, surely, that is what Neil had told himself. The shrill air, the way his heart beat out of his chest. It was nothing more than a product of his self-conscious. What _was_ real? His 8 am class. But something about today- whether it be the influence of the dream or not- told him not to go. Something about today told him to leave and never come back. He hadn’t felt so dangerously impulsive since his days at Welton.

As if pulled up by a force other than himself, he was on his feet, making his way toward the closet. Neatly, he buttoned a white shirt, threw on a sweater, then pulled up his tan pants. Each movement is mechanic, as if he did this every day out of habit- and he did.

It is not until he is halfway down the hall that Neil makes the decision to skip class today. It is not until he is halfway down the hall of his apartment building that Neil Perry makes a decision that ends up, for better or for worse, changing his life.

With the day still young, and having already been dressed, he takes it upon himself to find a place for tea. Maybe some breakfast if he felt well enough for it by the time he got there. He fumbled his way out of the building and ventured down the ever-restless Boston streets.

A few blocks down the street and he’s already beginning to wish he had brought a coat or, at the very least, a scarf. He couldn’t help but admire the snow, however disrupted it was by the earlier risers. Even if the Massachusetts winter bit twice as cold as those in Vermont, it reminded him of reciting lines in the snow, practicing, memorizing, yawping. As his shoes continued to carry him across the sidewalk, his head was elsewhere. Dwelling on bittersweet memories; Todd keeping minutes, Charlie making jokes, Meeks turning his poems into chants, Pitts telling stories, even Cameron’s bickering. Those were the golden days, he thought, Where we felt infinite and unstoppable.

Neil came to a halt as he reached a chalkboard sign stood outside a café. “ _NOW OPEN!”_ it read, in large and bold letters, followed by _“Leaves of Tea: Poetry Cafe and Bookstore”_ in smaller, more neat handwriting. He thought it was refreshing, albeit ironic, that he would stumble upon this today of all days. Might it be fate?

As he approached the door, he noticed two paper lists. One bore the store hours- typical of any cafe. Open early, close early. Open later on weekends. The second seemed to have dates for special events, many open mic nights, book signings, and so on. When he pushed the door open, a small ding sounded from the bell above it.

The innards of the café were as rustic as they were bohemian. Shelves of books, old and new, lined the walls. A spiral staircase with gold railing in the back corner, likely leading to a home up top, like many of the townhouses in this area.  A couple of small tables took place by a window, and an assortment of comfy-looking chairs and couches could be spotted near the back. It wasn’t like a typical café with booths and a bar, no. It was as if a library and a coffee lounge had combined. To top the mood, sweet jazz played quietly from a radio. He stood, taking in the smell of cocoa and candles for a moment, before he noticed the others in the room.

The first he took note of was the boy in the back. He seemed to be shelving books. Something of his presence was very familiar. Dusty blonde hair, wearing a black beret(which seemed to be part of the uniform, as the other worker was wearing one as well), forest green sweatshirt, and khaki pants. He decided not to gawk, and moved eyes to the person manning the counter. He seemed a lot spunkier than the other boy had-- his beret tipped to the left, hair cut very short, and an apron. Though, when he reached his face, he did a double take.

“Neil. Neil Perry.” He began to make his way around the counter, as Neil stood stunned. The boy in the back spun around, quick as a hare, but Neil wouldn’t see that, too focused on the boy in front of him.

He stood, silent, in awe for a moment before managing a quiet, “...Charlie?”

“Nuwanda.”

He grappled for words, never having anticipated this situation, on today of all days,  “Right- you- I haven’t seen you in years.” He said finally, fondly.

Charlie’s smile faded a bit. He shook his head, shaking it off,  “Tea? It’s on the house. We should catch up.” He didn’t wait for him to answer before turning back to round the counter again. He knew Neil liked tea more than coffee,  “I thought, I mean, _all of us_ thought you were..”

Neil, still a bit shaken, offered a nod. A shiver ran down Neil’s back as the familiar boy from the back’s voice perked his ears, causing him to swivel around and catch his face.

“I thought you were dead.”

The voice was quiet, and though the words left with anger there was an unmistakable hurt behind them, voice breaking. When Neil met Todd’s eyes for the first time in God-knows-how-long, he felt as though he might collapse from the overwhelming emotions that radiated from the boy in front of him.

“You- you,” Todd gave up, at a loss for words. His blue eyes darted around Neil’s face, desperately trying to make sense of the situation, “ _Four years._ ” He said, utterly broken, “Four, Four fucking years. You didn’t think t-to-to call? Or write? Give us a-any indication that, that you’re still alive?”

“Todd-”

“Don’t- just, just, just don’t. Just shut up.” He didn’t give Neil a chance, stumbling up the stairs, mumbling, not looking back in fear that he might burst into tears on the spot.

Charlie, who had watched this scene unfold from his place behind the counter, seemed as though he were trying to decide if he should follow or not. Thinking it best to leave Todd alone, his eyes bounced between the two until the poet’s figure was out of sight. 

He turned to Neil, holding up a kettle, “...Tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think !! a comment or kudos or anything is much appreciated!! this is my first ever Real fic!


	2. Grieve The Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's better when it’s not alone, when he has someone, when that someone is Todd.

_“Are you sure it was him?”_ It was as if Todd could see Steven’s face on the other side of the telephone.

“No, yeah, I’m positive. It was him. He’s— he,”

“He’s alive?”

“Yes. He is. Unless Charlie and I can suddenly see ghosts.”

“And you’re _upset_ about it?”

“Well- well, no,” Todd frowned, his spare hand mercilessly fidgeting with the phone cord,  “I’m not upset he’s alive. I’m, I’m just.. Upset he hadn’t said anything sooner.”

“Todd, are you hearing yourself?” Meeks paused, shaking his head on the other end of the call, “Your best friend-”

“We were more than-”

“All the more reason you shouldn’t waste time being mad at him.”

Todd said nothing. A small moment of self-reflection that led to overwhelming guilt as he sunk.

“Look, I gotta go. Call me later? And keep an open mind.” _click._

Todd Anderson was like water. Sometimes still, sometimes flowing, often disrupted. He took the shape of any situation he was put in without putting up a fight. Some people use him, some pollute him, and some simply enjoy his peacefulness. Todd Anderson was liquid like tears and sweat and blood.

His fingers trace the phone even after he sets it down. His friend’s words linger in the air for what seems like ages. _Keep an open mind._ Right. How do you keep an open mind when you spend four years grieving over the loss of someone who isn’t even dead? His nimble digits release the cord and begin nervously wringing together.

Hesitantly, his feet take him to the top of the staircase. He looms near it, hearing the quiet buzz of a few customers and picking up on Neil and Charlie’s chatter. From the sound of it, it seemed as though Charlie had been relaying the story of their current situation- an eventful story at that.

After Neil had died, or so they thought, their captain- Mr. John Keating- had been fired from Welton. Todd made an uncharacteristically brave decision that ended in his expulsion. Standing on a desk may not seem like such an offense in most places, but it was more about the merit and the nature-- and the fact that the entire class followed his steps. And after getting a lot, _a lot_ , of hell from his parents, he was back at Balincrest.

The poets went their different ways, but always stayed in touch. Phone calls, letters, any form of communication they could find. Until they were lucky enough to pick colleges near each other-- all but Knox, who stayed in Vermont to work for his father’s firm. And Cameron, who they’d cut ties with. Meanwhile, Charlie had dropped _out_ of college within a month, Todd was majoring in English, and Steven and Gerard(who’d grown even _closer_ over time… very close.) both majored in engineering.

“I dropped out, so my parents aren’t supporting me anymore. That’s why I’m working here. Keeps me on my feet.” He’d heard Charlie say from his place above the stairs.

“And Todd?” Neil’s voice was like honey. Even after all this time.

“It’s not really my story to tell.” Charlie raised his brows, “Let’s just say, his parents aren’t all too _gay_ about the _gays._ ”

“Oh.” That was all Neil had said. _Oh._ As if he hadn’t known. Todd didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Sure, nobody had said anything outright. They never did. It was all stolen looks and feather-light touches. Nothing overt but certainly not subtle. Todd knew, or he’d told himself, it wasn’t just in his head.

He stumbled down the stairs all too casually. He didn’t look at Neil, he didn’t look at Charlie, and he didn’t say a word. He made his way through the few customers back to the shelf he’d been at this morning, resuming his work with as flat of an expression as he could muster. But he was unable to avoid their eyes, gazes stinging his back as they had followed him from the moment he’d stepped off the stairs. They looked at each other. Then back at him. Then at each other once more. An unannounced game of _‘Who will be the first to break the sudden silence?'_

“So,” Charlie. Charlie was never shy of speaking up, “I-”

“You’re supposed to be working.” Todd cut him off. Perhaps a bit more curtly than he’d intended. His eyes scanned the shelves for the proper place to wiggle the next book into.

“I was just going to tell Neil about the book you’re writing.”  

“You’re writing a book?”

Todd froze for a moment. His fingers slide down the spine of the book he’d just placed, before his head turns to finally look the two boys in the face. “It’s just a bunch of poetry. It’s nothing special. I’m- It’s, uh-”

“Can we read it?”

“It’s not done. And, well, it’s very- kind of personal.”

Charlie gives him a backwards look, “You’re going to publish it, Todd, you might as well let us give it a glance.”

“I don’t know, It’s- It’s not-”

“We can do it _Dead Poets_ style! Like we used to!” Charlie already seems far too attached to this idea, and knowing him, he won’t let it go, “We can call up Meeks and Pittsie, invite them over to our place. We’ll take turns reading them out.”

Before Todd can protest, the bell chimes to announce the arrival of new customers, capturing Charlie’s attention, “We’re doing it.” He says decidedly, giving Neil a pat on the shoulder before scampering back to his place behind the counter.

Todd, totally dumbfounded at Charlie’s ability to disregard his comfort entirely, stands in place, mouth half-open and wordless. He doesn’t break his gaze on his coworker until Neil awkwardly clears his throat. Snapping to attention, Todd shakes his head and blinks hard, nearly dropping his handful of books.

“How have you been?” Neil says like an old friend, and Todd feels, for the hundredth time in this very stressful morning, like he might fall apart.

“Better.” He replies, but it feels empty.

But Neil smiles that smile, that warm and forgiving smile, that smile that hasn’t changed since high school, that little _I missed you_ smile, and he almost melts. “Charlie says you’re majoring in English. How is it?”

“It’s- uhm, well, it’s not half as stressful as things were at Welton.” He shakes his head, fingers running absent-mindedly up and down and up and down the spine of one of the books he’s holding, “But-- well, I’m sure Charlie told you, but supporting ourselves has been- er- _difficult_.”

There’s an air of silence as Neil only gives a nod in reply. For a moment they look anywhere but each other. For once, it’s Todd who finally says something,

“Where have you been?” He stops, then doubles back on his phrasing, not wanting to make such a spectacle of him, “I- I mean, uhm, are you in school? Work?”

Neil’s eyes hit the ground fast, and he hesitates to answer, half-ashamed-- which is ridiculous. He bites the bullet, “Uh, school, yeah. Med school.”

A bit of Todd, a nasty part of him, he thinks, didn’t like that answer. Didn’t like that the boy who put so much effort into convincing Todd to do what he loved, who told him to follow his dreams no matter what, who _changed him_ would just… give up. The part of him that thinks _There were so many times when I wanted to give up. So many. But I didn’t, because I told myself that’s not what you would do. But you did. And you’re here. And you gave up._

Both of them knew that’s not what Neil wants. But neither of them seemed willing to voice this truth. Just a wordless agreement.

“Do you still act?” Todd knew it was worthless, that the answer would be no, but he wanted to hold on to that hope that Neil hadn’t completely given in.

“No, no, I mean, it’s not really my thing. It’s not realistic.”

_Who are you?_ Todd wanted to say, _And what have you done with Neil?_ Because that was most certainly not the Neil he knew. It was as if someone took his Neil and drained all the life and hope out of him, “Oh.” He said instead, almost too quiet, “Well, how is med school treating you?”

“It’s a lot of work, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah- yeah, I figured, you were always such a good student.”

He had so many questions but no way to ask them.  _Why didn’t you call? Or write?_ _Why did you give up?_ _Are you with someone?_ _Do they make you as happy as you made me?_ _Did you even think about me?_ _What changed?_ _Why do you seem so.. Gone?_ _Why can’t I let go of who you were?_ _Do you know how important you were to me?_ _Did you love me too or was I crazy?_ _Am I crazy?_

Neither of them says much for the next few minutes while Todd turns back to the shelf. He’s running out of books by now. When someone does speak up, finally, it’s Neil.

“I did try to get in touch.” He stumbles over the words for a moment, which baffles Todd, as he had always known him to be so well spoken, “Er, I… wanted to. My father wouldn’t let me, and by the time I got to college I didn’t know how to reach you. I figured by then, anyway, you wouldn’t want to hear from me.”

It sets. It sends a twist to Todd’s core-- as if he would ever not want to hear from Neil. In what world? His posture- which had been unreasonably tense throughout this entire interaction- sinks, “I missed you. I would’ve loved if you wrote. Even after all that time. Hell, if you’d written me _now_ I’d be happy.” His voice breaks.

“You don’t seem happy.”

“I _am_ happy.” Todd can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure Neil or himself, “I loved you, Neil. I still love you. I never stopped.” The words quiver as they leave his mouth, but he can’t seem to make himself stop,  “You were my best friend. I’m who I am because of you.” He can feel his voice rising in both volume and pitch, but the last thing he wants to do is make a scene. He swallows, eyes scattering over the few people in the room. Voice down to nearly a whisper, he says, “Can we go upstairs and talk about this?”

Neil is quick to nod, followed by a small “Of course.”

As they lead to the stairs, Neil’s hand gently presses to Todd’s back. He doesn’t think about it at first, it’s habitual. The product of so many nights spent comforting each other, practically holding each other. Seeing just how close the two could get until things were too obvious. When Neil comes to his senses about the contact, he doesn’t move his hand-- he can’t. He feels Todd lean into it, like he really, truly needs it, and he can’t make himself move it.

And by the time they’ve reached the top of the stairs, Todd comes apart entirely. He unravels before Neil’s eyes, a mess tears. It’s not until Todd has wrapped his arms around him that Neil realizes he’s _also_ crying. They are both silent, tears dripping, holding each other like they’ll die if they let go. Neil forgets everything except how easy it is to fit his arms around Todd, how much better it is to cry when you’re not by yourself.

He’d forgotten just how shaky and starved of his touch he’d been. Everything's better when it’s not alone, when he has someone, when that someone is Todd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think so far!! very sorry for the wait ! you wont have to wait so long for chapter three (hopefully)!


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